The Cost of Victory
by acceptable
Summary: Was it really a victory, some people on the street ask? After all the wounds run too deep to heal overnight. The death of the dark lord was but a starting point to a recovery that never seems complete, no matter how many years pass. One shot


The great hall of Hogwarts filled with cheers when Harry Potter defeated Voldemort. The news crept out that the war was over and people stopped what they were doing and smiled; children hugged their parents in joy; parents wept in relief for the safety of their children. Yet for some it was no cause for celebration.

For the death eaters, bound and wandless, locked in offices and classrooms around Hogwarts it was a bitter defeat. They had lost once before and lost all hope in their cause. But then it had been brought back, tantalisingly, the sweet call of success drawing them closer and closer. And when temptations weren't enough then the dark lord threatened and tortured until they could almost believe that it was what they had truly wanted all along. Voldemort had brought them up to the highest heights yet Harry Potter had destroyed their pedestal with one mighty crash. And now, they were facing the deepest fall.

* * *

Was it _really_ a victory, some people on the street ask? After all the wounds run too deep to heal overnight. The death of the dark lord was but a starting point to a recovery that never seems complete no matter how many years pass.

Some families who fled the threat of death eaters never returned, happy in their new lives in countries that are not so scarred. Some return cautiously, hiding their pain as they see the rubble of what used to be their houses, as they finally hear the news that so-and-so is dead. That so many never managed to leave and now will never get the opportunity to do so again. Why were we spared, they ask? They gratefully hold their loved ones close, glad of their narrow escape, but the children want to know why they can't go and play with their old friends, why their parents won't let them out of their sight, why everyone keeps their wand close at hand every second of the day. Some pack up and leave again. There's nothing left, they whisper, nothing but a broken world full of tears and fear.

* * *

For the children who grew up during these times every death shattered a little piece more of their innocence. Teenagers promise their parents to be home before dark and never fail to comply. Sneaking into Knockturn Alley instead of being a rite of passage for every brave Gryffindor becomes something not even the most foolhardy would dare. And every Slytherin is looked upon with an air of suspicion.

The most impressionable were the youngest children. Every September scared eleven year olds creep onto Platform 9 ¾ and see the blood red train that will bring them to the place where so many died. Maybe some lost relatives in the final battle. Maybe some had siblings who suffered under Snape's headship and barely made it out to Hogsmeade alive. Or maybe some have simply heard terrible stories of detentions under the Carrows and can't bring themselves to dismiss the niggling thought that maybe things haven't completely changed. No matter the reason, where before their parents would have been barely able to contain their excitement at going, these children of war cast apprehensive looks at the train and hold tighter to their parents' hands. All the time praying that they will not be sorted into Slytherin. After all, everyone says that they are evil. No, better to be Gryffindor like Harry Potter.

Perhaps it was hardest for those who fought. For those who sacrificed their safety and sometimes their lives. For those who cannot see the Hogwarts without picturing the bodies lying on the cold stone floors, without seeing the grass stained red with blood, without remembering eyes that stared emptily after green jets of light. Why, they wonder, when the Memorial Day occurs year after year, can all they do is weep for those that they lost rather than smile for the ones that they didn't.

* * *

The world will heal, promises Harry Potter, despite deep emerald eyes filled with pain. If we give up then we might as well have let Voldemort win, he insists. The new minister for magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, sets up programmes for those who lost everything in the war, providing shelter and work for those in need. Psychiatrists work overtime, desperate to heal everyone's pain. Every trace of Voldemort's reign that can be seen is obliterated and efforts turn to the invisible wounds that are not so easily healed. The scars that run throughout the wizarding world are sought out and attempted to put right. Harry is right, people realise eventually, the world _will_ heal, it will just take time.

* * *

In the end it is perhaps the Muggleborns who help the most. Wide eyed eleven year olds enter Hogwarts and listen to the tales of the war. There was a war to wipe us out, they ask? At the solemn nods they simply shrug. But it's over now, they say, so everything's ok, we don't need to be scared. And it is their naivety that gives the pureblooded children their innocence back. It's true, the children exclaim, You Know Who is dead and the war is over, we cannot be afraid for ever. And happy in their newfound knowledge they skip off to become a new generation. One that acknowledges the terrible nature of the war, yet accepts that they must move on and simply enjoy their lives. Because after all isn't that what all the war heroes died for? The chance to give the next generation peace from war and hatred.

* * *

Memorial Day swings around again and Harry Potter smiles as he watched his wife with their three young children. He is glad that they can grow up in a world where their lives will not be shattered by war or dulled by living in a broken world. Harry smiles as his godson races towards him yet feels a pang of pain for Teddy, his parents taken away by the war. The scars Voldemort left can never be completely healed, everyone knows that, but no world is perfect.

Later, the Memorial Day speeches are wound up by the minister, Kingsley. I see you all crying for those that you lost, he tells the crowd, perhaps today we have healed enough to cheer for them, to celebrate what they gave us. People are shocked Harry can see, yet slowly smiles are beginning to form through the tears and as the three cheers are given more and more people join in. By the end everyone is on their feet clapping. It is, Harry realises, a turning point. And in the months to follow he is proved right. It _was_ a victory, people on the streets decide. No wound can heal overnight but every wound can heal with time.

The effects of the war will be felt for a long time but finally the world is healing again. The wizarding world is picking up its shattered pieces and is finally determined to make their world a better place again.


End file.
